Can flys drown?
I’ve been watching one suspended in piss for like five minutes now, and damned if the lil fucker isn’t still twitching.
This miscreant’s high crimes against the state were illegal trespassing, and the sentence was handed down swiftly and harshly: death by squishing. Instead I noticed a can of “Raid” on the table due to just this sort of interloping. The goddamn summer has brought these fuckin things out in full force. I crack my window to let some breeze waft its way into my domicile and I’m instantly inundated by ugly black house flies. I’m not being racist, that’s just what they are. So anyway needless to say I’ve been on a mad tear hunting the little pricks down with extreme smashy prejudice.
So keep that in mind when I came upon the lucky fly in question. As he sat chilling on my window pane, instead of a well-deserved splattering I sprayed the “Raid” around the area along the frame of the window. Just enough to mustard gas the bastard a bit. Sure enough, he started drunkenly throwing himself against the glass in a vain attempt to escape his cruel fate. A few comical head bumps later and he sputtered to the carpet.
Thoroughly satisfied, I bent over to put this winged nuisance out of his misery with the palm of my hand. But then it occurred to me: he needs to be made an example of. Like in Vietnam. So I gingerly scooped the little fella up on a crumpled receipt and carefully walked him into a true gas chamber: my commode.
As I approached the toilet while singing about Marty McFly’s impending demise with glee, in a feat of inhuman strength—literally—he somehow wrenched himself free and flew off. Holy fuck. That can’t be. I stared at the now fly-less receipt in amazement. Gad zooks he’s free. And not only that, he must be pissed.
As I braced myself for a life and death confrontation I spotted the fly on the tile floor, his last bit of energy spent. “There you are you little fuckface,” I said compassionately. “Thought you could get away eh?”
Before he could answer I swooped him up with the receipt and dumped him in the toilet bowl. But the fun and games were far from over.
“Hey asshole,” I said, in my best Johnny Sack impression. “Let me buy you a drink.” And with that charming display of goodwill, I unleashed a mighty blast of urine directly onto the fly, giggling like a madman all the while.
Surprisingly though, The Little Insect That Could continued the fight, flailing his tiny arms around in an apparent attempt at the doggy paddle. What is this, escape from Alcatraz? Instead of simply flushing the fly’s miseries away I decided to let him struggle through a torturous death. Serves him right.
Although after a few minutes my indignance turned to impatience as the little asshole was still Michael Phelps’ing around in a yellow sea. Annoyed, I twisted the receipt/fly transporter into a straw-like shape and plunged it beneath the waves with the fly trapped underneath it, effectively holding him under water. Or in this case piss. Having waited the sufficient amount of time I withdrew my homemade fly dunker to survey the results. Then instead of seeing a tiny corpse to my amazement the fuckin thing began flailing his arms again. Genuinely confused and a bit frightened, I draped the receipt over him and decided to drag my laptop into the bathroom to document this epic struggle. Hold on, come to think of it, it’s been like ten more minutes by now. Let me check on the situation and come back with an update…
Turns out they can drown after all.